


When You Can See the Stars

by RogueAlice_91



Category: Thir13en Ghosts (2001)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of inhuman treatment, OOC-ness, Slash, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueAlice_91/pseuds/RogueAlice_91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the house explodes where do the spirits go? Well Ryan Kuhn can tell you where he went. And what happened when he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You Can See the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the Ryan/Horace fic Absolution by TheShekinah. I re-discovered it recently and with it my love for this pair. I hope you all like this and please comment.

The shattered glass seemed to glimmer like the night sky as the specters faded from sight. One, a tall bullet riddled man, faded quietly, heading back to his beloved junkyard to watch over his precious dogs and rusting automobiles. Another, a petite wild looking man with a straitjacket and head cage, cackled insanely as he too faded. He wasn't headed anywhere specific, not really wanting to go to his old haunt. 

His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air taking in the scents he didn't know he missed. The strong smell of pine slammed him and farther down the clean one of running water. Ryan walked towards it, his gait loping and some what disjointed due to his twisted limbs. The woods were quiet at night save for the occasional hoot of an owl. This was one time he hadn't filled his mind with images of rivers of blood or reveled in screams from memories of killings gone by. Tonight he had something he'd longed for ever since his first night at Borehamwood: sanity.

A hoarse croaking laugh bubbled up his throat, still raw from the manic laughter and screams he normally made. His eyes, one robin egg blue and the other brown as the earth beneath his feet, shifted from side to side. There, he found what he was looking for. A stream of clear cool looking water cut a path through the woods around the house. 'If I follow it perhaps I can leave this accursed place.' Ryan thought, a spark igniting in his odd eyes. 

He dug his toes into the earth and, for once, relished the feeling of something other than glass or even grimy tile against his feet. In the asylum they took his shoes, declaring a monster like him had no need for "luxuries". At first he didn't mind because when he stalked his victims he preferred to be silent. But soon he realized the sadistic doctors 'treating' him loved to use his unprotected feet as part of his torture. 

As a result his feet, small as they were for a man from the turn of the century, were like the rest of him, twisted and mangled. His nice neat toenails had grown long, ragged, and dirty as had his fingernails. Ryan crouched by the water before sitting on the ground. He stared hypnotically into the clear moving liquid before dunking his feet in. A hiss broke the silence. The water was like ice but it worked to clear his head of the dark memories. 

After drying his feet on the pieces of his straitjacket still intact, he stood and began following the stream. The night has deepened and he could now hear the almost silent padding of the predators stalking prey. Didn't they know there was a more dangerous thing in the woods than themselves? 

Slowly he made his way out of the pine woods. He could tell by the trees thinning out and the sounds of the occasional car going by. Soon he saw the road, lit by nothing but moonlight and winding thru more dense forest. Ryan wasn't sure exactly which direction to go so he just continue going forward, hoping he'd find a town soon. What he was going to do once he got there, he didn't know.

********************************************************************

The town he finally came to was small, but big enough to have some sort of big factory and, way on the other side of it, a junkyard. Walking through the town, dawn soon to show its rosy cheeks, Ryan observed the names of the stores. He was obviously on the main stretch as he saw a hardware store, a food place or two, and a filling station. The further he went, the sparser the businesses became. Finally all that was left to see was a junkyard on the left hand side of the road.

A rusted sign above the equally corroded gate proclaimed 'Mahoney and Son Auto Yard'. Ryan frowned and stared at the sign, its letters faded with age. Something was familiar about that name. Mahoney, Mahoney. Ryan said it aloud, letting the syllables drip from his mouth. Then it came to him. The Juggernaut, Horace, his last name was Mahoney. 'This must be his home, the place he always talked about. When he talked that is.' 

Ryan tilted his head, cursing under his breath when the strands of hair caught in his cage were tugged. Curious, though wary of the ghost who resided there, the formerly insane (well half way insane) ghost walked through the chain link fence. Towers of rusted, smashed, and bloodied cars met his two-toned gaze. Everything looked like a typical junkyard except for the small shack looking building a ways off. 

Ryan froze when he heard the heavy footsteps. His clawed hands curled up as he slowly turned around. There in all his bloody giant glory was The Juggernaut, Horace 'the breaker' Mahoney. Now Ryan, being who he was, was rarely afraid of anything, except fire and cells. He was deathly afraid of this ghost though. Narrowing his eyes and trying to appear his version of confident he rasped out "I'm only passing through Mahoney. I was curious to see the place you talked about so much, that's all." 

The silence was thick as morning fog between them. Ryan, with careful measured steps, backtracked, his eyes never leaving the taller spirit. 'I know for a fact that like animals we sense fear. Hell, I've used that often enough to catch a slut or two.' Ryan reminded himself as he prepared to fade. One quiet word, spoken in a deep and calming voice stopped him however. "Wait."

His head cage tilted precariously as Ryan did as Mahoney said. Reaching a gnarled hand up to steady it he made a note of the shaking in the appendage. 'That hasn't happened since the fire.' Now Ryan knew his fear could be seen as well as felt. Gripped the worn metal as if to use it as a weapon Ryan focused on the blonde haired ghost. "Yes?" He asked, his voice still raspy. The fire had damaged his vocal cords badly, leaving his normally even tenor a rough one.

"I can show you around. There isn't much to see though." The Juggernaut's deep voice held a note of...longing. 'He's lonely?' Ryan wondered, surprised that someone with the moniker the Breaker would want for companionship. Biting his thin and torn lip, the Ripper-esque spirit mulled it over. 'Well I suppose it wouldn't hurt to stay. I did want to look around and I have nowhere else to be for the rest of eternity.' 

"Alright. I'd...like that." A strange, foreign feeling came over Ryan then. It was like warmth of the fire that claimed his life, but gentler. What was this new emotion? Could this be what he'd longed for as a poor child on the harsh streets of London? Is this...friendship? 

He stared at the Juggernaut intently. He noticed the shade of the giant's eyes was a shade darker blue than his own ( the left one) and his straw colored blonde hair was a little bloody but otherwise neat. His appearance on the other hand was rough and his black hair was in snarls and tangles from decades of no grooming.

"Call me Horace, Jackal." said the blonde, snapping Ryan out of his observations. "Oh. The name is Ryan. Ryan Kuhn." the shorter man replied easily. Horace nodded and turned, walking back the way he had come. Ryan trotted after him, his shorter twisted legs unable to keep up with Horace's longer ones. "So," Ryan began as he jogged alongside the giant, "how long have you lived here?" The cage rattled slightly as he moved, causing him to hiss as his knotted hair was pulled again.

Frowning, Horace stopped and motioned for Ryan to come closer. "I have lived here since I was abandoned here as a baby. I died in 1949." The taller spirit answered Ryan's question before running his large fingers to the locks of inky black hair twisted in the bars of the cage. "If you will stay here I can cut those pieces free of your head cage." 

Ryan stared up at Horace, mouth agape. "W-what? Why would you do that?" He wasn't use to anyone doing anything nice for him, in life or in death. Horace shrugged. "It looks painful and I bet its been that way for a long time." 

"Yes it been decades and yes its...painful." Ryan lowered his gaze, he hated admitting he was in pain. It usually got him an added dose of whatever 'therapy' the doctors decided he needed that day. As a reflex he flinched and hunched his shoulders and this time he mutter a barely heard "Sorry." Again he felt a hand on him, this time squeezing his shoulder. "I'll be right back." He heard Horace say. 

As he waited Ryan thought he heard a dog bark close by. He didn't mind dogs, after all his Black Zodiac name was the Jackal, but couldn't help the growl that rumbled through him. He heard an answering growl just as Horace came back.

"Were you growling at my dogs, or were they growling at you?" Horace asked, holding a pair of bolt cutters in his hands. Ryan laughed. "A little of both. I uh get animalistic sometimes. What are those for?" Ryan eyed the cutters. "This are what are going to take that cage off." Ryan gaped at Horace. Then the blonde held up a pair of scissors. "These are for the knots. Don't worry I will only cut loose the parts that are caught in the cage."

Ryan nodded and took a deep breath. He was glad to finally be free of that cage but afraid he would freak out and scare Horace. Closing his eyes he listened carefully for the snip of hair being cut. Four or five snips later Ryan opened his eyes. To test out his range of movement the dark haired ghost tilted his head forward, left, right, and backward. "Thank you. It feels nice to be able to move a bit more freely." 

Horace shook his head as he slipped the scissors in the pocket of his uniform. "Don't thank me yet. Come on, we should sit for this part." Ryan let out a shaky breath and followed the giant to the shack he saw earlier. It was one room with a small cot, table, and a chair. Without being asked or told Ryan sat in the chair and automatically gripped the table in front of him.

"Close your eyes Ryan. I'll try and be quick." Ryan squeezed his eyes shut as if he were a child again and desperate to forget what his mother did behind close doors. He was so still he could be mistaken for a statue as the heavy cutters slowly did their work. His claw-like nails scraped across the worn table top and Ryan tried to keep calm. 

After so many years of torture he was frightened of anything that could be potentially harmful to him, especially when used by anyone bigger than him. If he panicked he could easily hurt Horace or worse, cause Horace to snap and hurt him. Spirits could heal if they were injured somehow but, depending on the severity of the wound, it could take anywhere from a day to weeks.

At last the sounds of metal on metal stopped. Ryan cautiously peeked an eye open to see the cutters on the table, along with long deep gouges in the wood. Putting his hands in his lap he whispered a "Sorry.", afraid to move until the taller ghost said so. "Its alright. I know you didn't mean to and besides, the table is old and has plenty of dings and scratches. Now I'm going to pry apart the two halves so be very, very still." Horace rumbled. 

Ryan breathed in and out, trying to center himself for this. 'This is what you've always wanted but never found the time nor chance to do.' He scolded himself in his mind. Then, with no other warning than a shuffling sound, the two parts of the head cage were pried apart and dropped to the floor.

His head felt weightless and it wobbled as his neck was weak without the support of the cage. Swallowing his fear and relief, Ryan reached a twisted appendage up and, starting at his throat, traced the skin of his neck before moving up to his face. "Is there a mirror somewhere?" He rasped out, his words heavy with an un-named emotion. Within a minute of his question a small dusty hand held mirror was laid in his palm.

Ryan felt Horace's hand on his shoulder, his thumb rubbing small patterns on the charred and dirty fabric of the straitjacket. He leaned over the mirror, his matted black hair hiding his face from the other ghost. Staring back at him was his face. Its not that he hadn't seen his face since his death, he had. It was more like a prisoner who's been kept in the dark seeing the sun for the first time. 

Ryan's face, as always was marred with self-inflicted scratches and small scars from 'treatments'. His wary eyes were the same as ever, one brown and one blue. His lips were thin and shredded from his own razor sharp teeth and lack of proper hygiene. His teeth, as he bared them in a vicious smile, were sharp and yellow. 'So much the same and yet so different from who I was.' The thought came smooth and unbidden, barely upsetting his fractured mind.

Without another look at his reflection he pushed the small mirror back to Horace. "Thank you." The two words were gruff and terse as Ryan stood up. "Is there somewhere I can wash up a bit?" After decades upon decades in that head cage he was aching to feel a bit more like pre-Borehamwood Ryan. Horace grunted and showed him a small basin near the cot. 

Eagerly the smaller man went to it and, scooping water into his cupped hands, began to wash his face. The coolness of the water felt as good as the stream had felt to his tired feet. Feeling some what better Ryan took the basin and, holding it tight, walked to the outside of the little building. Careful not to get his straitjacket or drawstring pants wet, he poured the rest of the water over his hair. Of course it being as matted as it was and for so long, not much could be done. 

Returning to the shack, Ryan quirked his lips up at Horace. "Can I use a strip of cloth, if you have one?" There was one last thing he needed to feel like his old self, minus a change of clothes. Horace frowned but began rummaging through the pockets of his uniform. "Here. Why do you need it?" In his large hand lay a neat strip of blue cloth. "I want to feel...more normal, I guess. More like myself, like I was before the asylum." Ryan took the cloth and, from memory, gathered his slicked down hair and tied it with the 'ribbon', making an uneven bow from the knot.

"It looks..." Horace trailed off, unsure what to say without insulting the older ghost, for he was older by death date than himself. Ryan raised a brow. "It looks good. Not anything I've ever seen, 'cept in the history books in grade school." Nodding his thanks the former Jackal of the Black Zodiac brushed a hand against the Juggernaut's.

A faint darkening of Horace's skin bespoke of his shyness around anyone. Ryan, who'd never loved anyone but his mother was taking a leap by simply touching the dead mechanic's hand. Neither said anything, a blanket of silence so thick it almost smothered them. In truth they had, in the basement, been 'drawn' to each other if only because of their similar lives. 

Both had been raised with little to no love. And both had turned to a life of killing to compensate for it. Ryan, unlike Horace, had tried (and was caused to fail) to change by turning himself in to the insane asylum. He knew that his dark unnatural thoughts were exactly that and a part of him, the majority, yearned to be fixed. Horace on the other hand, as the other ghosts learned, had no such desire and was simply who he became because of taunting and jeering by his peers had caused him to snap. 

So it was only right that now, a day after the destruction of their glass prison, that they find each other. Slowly, as not to startle him, Horace brushed Ryan's small hand (small to both of them really) with his and caught it. Careful of the talon-like nails, Horace intwined their fingers, his larger broader one swamping Ryan's slender, smaller digits. Ryan, who abhorred women and their tainted touch, felt fine with another male's. Horace, a man who spent most of his life and death killing women, found a strange sense of comfort from this. 

Ryan flicked his eyes down to their clasped hands and up to Horace's face, taking in a glimmer of something in those dark blue eyes. A tiny hint of a smile crossed thin scarred lips as Ryan rose on his tiptoes toward Horace. Instinctively knowing what his companion wished to do, the giant bent down and cradled the back of Ryan's head. Gently and with no small amount of trembling, their lips met. 

It was short but enough to cause them both to realize that there was really something besides a tentative friendship between them. Horace's eyes shifted to the cot, silently asking what Ryan wished to do. A quick squeeze of the larger hand was the signal he gave. Straightening to his full height of seven feet, the taller of the two led the way to the cot. Releasing his lover's hand Horace sat down, the small cot groaning under his weight. 

Ryan shifted from one foot to the other, fiddling with the buckles on his straitjacket. He was nervous, he'd never did anything but fuck and that was with women. The look of 'I know' was mirrored in Horace's deep set blue eyes. Neither of them had loved a man whether in their time on earth or now. Eyes, oddly colored, took in the spirit sitting on the mattress. 

The long rigid muscles in Horace's arms, the heavy set of his brow, the still straight blonde hair. He'd seen this before of course but now, viewing it from the perspective of a lover it was a different thing entirely. His mouth filled with saliva as he caught a glimpse of the broad, if bullet ridden, chest. He wanted that expanse of skin under his tongue. 

Ryan moved swiftly, as if stalking a whore again but this time there was lust in his eyes and it was pure, good lust. Licking his ragged lips, the smaller ghost advanced on his sitting lover. Straddling the giant's waist, Ryan pressed a kiss to the first place he could reach, Horace's throat. Dozens of wounds littered the skin there and Ryan, for once, took his time with each one. Moving from the neck to the chest, he slid a finger down into the old tattered shirt, feeling the broad chest and reveling in it. 

A hunger slow but dangerous wound like a river through Ryan's veins and he tugged at the top of the material, a high dog-like whine escaping from his throat. Horace chuckled, a rumbling sound that shook his body. "Impatient?" Ryan answered with a growl and narrowed eyes. A smug look past over the ex-mechanic's features but he did as his lover wished and pulled his shirt over his head.

The skin of Horace's chest was smooth, only a handful of holes center near his heart broke the expanse of it. Quickly, allowing himself a treat he never knew he wanted, Ryan pushed the other man down on the bed and bent his head. His hot breath fanned Horace's skin and he felt his lover shiver. Ryan smiled, a smug 'yes I do know what reaction I give you' smile, and pressed a series of open mouthed kisses across the flesh. 

Careful with his teeth, Ryan sucked on one nipple then the other, flicking his tongue over it as he did so. He could hear Horace's groan and knew what he was doing was working. Moving down to his love's stomach he kissed and licked the skin then as well. His own chest was right near Horace's manhood. A thrill he hadn't felt since his last kill when through him at the knowledge that he was the one causing that stir. 

Slowly, teasingly, he trailed a hand across Horace's abdomen before sliding a finger down to the button of the torn and faded denim work pants. Flashing the giant laying below him a quick grin, Ryan popped the button open. Eager to see what awaited him, the black-haired man yanked the zipper down exposing plain cotton underwear and an erection straining against the fabric. Ryan growled softly at the sight before him. Never had anything looked this good.

Without preamble, Ryan pulled down both pieces of clothing. Free, Horace's quite large and hard cock sprang up, curving toward his stomach. Thin lips encircled the head, leaking pre-cum, while a small hand gripped the base. Humming as he bobbed up and down as far as he could, Ryan took in the feel of the pulsing organ. He'd never done this before but so far he liked it, as long as he could go at his own pace. Licking a long stripe up the length of Horace's member, Ryan hummed again as he felt his lover's shudder of what he hoped was pleasure. 

Taking that as his cue he moved faster, swirling his tongue around the cock. His hand worked in tandem with his mouth and soon he heard Horace's groan of release and felt the cum fill his mouth and throat. Ryan swallowed and pulled off taking in unnecessary air. Crawling over to Horace he caught the panting spirit's mouth in a kiss. He felt large hands stroke his back through the straitjacket. The room was thick with the smell of sweat. Ryan laid his head on Horace's chest and closed his eyes.

Horace's voice broke the silence. "Would you like me to....?" He was unsure of how exactly to go about it but if the stiffness against his hip was anyway indication he should do something. Without waiting for an answer, the taller one rolled them over and, bearing his weight on his thick muscled arms, stared at the shorter specter. 

Ryan's body was skinny but Horace thought it made him look all the more dangerous. After all who would suspect him of anything? The blonde's brow furrowed as his took in the scars pitting the pale skin. "Ryan...take off the straitjacket. I want...to see all of you." Horace's request was whispered but in the quiet it could have been a shout.

Ryan cracked his brown eye open and with a small nod sat up a little. "Its not anything to see really. Not since...after I was committed." His voice was normal except for a barest hint of fear weaving in and out of his words. Horace nodded but he imagined it would look better than Ryan thought. Helping his wary lover slip out of the material Horace's eyes took in the skin as it was shown. 

It was pale, as pale as a vampire's might be, and decorated with scar and burns as well as scratches. Ryan's arms now free of the straitjacket, appeared more twisted than Horace had thought. 'It does not matter.' He repeated to himself in his head. Catching the shorter man's look he decided to prove it. Large hands stroked and caressed the crippled limbs, marveling at the somehow smooth skin. 

Just as Ryan had done to him, Horace kissed and worshiped his love's deformed body. One thick finger circled and rubbed a dusky nipple as kisses and little bites created a path of pleasure to the slim marked chest. Stroking a hand down the flat stomach, the skin stretched over hipbones that jutted out. Ryan shuddered as Horace licked his skin and the area around his nipples, and his head tilted back exposing his neck. 

Horace explored every inch of that skin, mapping out its dips and rises with his tongue, teeth, and lips. He delighted in the feeling of the shorter man wracked with pleasure that he caused. Rubbing a hand over Ryan's cloth covered erection, Horace grinned before plunging his hand in and grasping the member, running his hand up and down the length. Pants and moans were now added to the shuddering and Horace kissed his lover as Ryan had him. Tongues danced and teeth nipped as Horace pumped his hand faster. 

"Faster..." Ryan gasped as his hips thrust in time to his lover's hand against his member. Sweat trickled down his neck and he felt Horace's tongue on his skin, licking at it like a cat. That coupled with the increasing pace sent him over the edge and he came all over the taller spirit's hand and his own pants.  
Panting, Ryan slumped back against the mattress closing his eyes again. He felt the weight shift and something cool against his prick and threadbare pants.

The weight evened out and soon he felt a pair of strong arms encircle him. He stiffened but only for a moment, forcing himself to relax and remember just who was holding him. Horace's hand stroked his hair and the side of his face. Ryan tried to remember when, if ever he'd been held like this but couldn't think of one time. In an effort to calm himself, the former patient hummed a little ditty his mother made up one night in between 'clients'. He felt himself relax into Horace's embrace and sighed in relief. 

A few minutes, or it could have been hours, later Ryan allowed sleep to claim him with her siren call but not before intwining his and Horace's fingers. And so, in a small one room shack in a junkyard two lonely misunderstood spirits found the one thing they'd craved their entire existence: love.


End file.
